


The Masquerade

by kbaycolt



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Elias Bouchard Being a Bastard, Episode: e118 The Masquerade, Martin was amazing in this episode, This is mostly for me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:54:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23652670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kbaycolt/pseuds/kbaycolt
Summary: “Do you r-” Martin stopped. Gathered himself. Stall for time, let Melanie do what she needed to do. Distract Elias. “Is it so hard to believe that I hate you as well?”“No,” Elias said with a sigh. “It’s just hard to imagine that you would act on it.”***The statement burning scene, in novel form.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Elias Bouchard, Martin Blackwood & Melanie King
Comments: 5
Kudos: 33





	The Masquerade

**Author's Note:**

> hi this is entirely all canon with the internal monologues and descriptions added in that you don't get in podcast format. enjoy

Martin settled himself at his desk. A tape recorder sat nearby, while on the other side was a stack of files. Statements. And directly in front of him was a lighter.

_Click._

The tape recorder turned on of its own accord and began to whirr softly.

Eyeing it, Martin said, “Are you listening?” He took in a deep breath. In the quiet of the archives, the tape was deafening. The prickly feeling of being watched spread over him, and he had the uncomfortable sense that it wasn’t Elias. “Good.”

He picked up the stack of files and rifled through them, plucking out one from the middle.

“Case, uh, 0071304. Statement of Ivo Lensik.” Nothing. Silence. He let out a breath, a wry smile twisting his lips. “Alright.”

The lighter flicked open. He raised it to the corner of the page, watching as the flame leapt to the paper and started to eat away at it. He dropped the burning statement in the trash beside him.

“Statement ends, I guess.” He flipped through a few more files. “Harold Silvana. Number 0020406. You’ll probably do.” There was an inexplicable sort of glee that flooded him then, as he set the statement ablaze. This little act of defiance was certainly cathartic as well as a distraction. “Alright then,” he said, when there was no reaction to his destruction. A sing-song quality pitched his words up and down, playfully calm despite the circumstances. “0140207. Dylan Anderson. Yeah? Okay. There’s plenty more on the pile.”

A sharp knocking came at the door to the archives. Martin casually tossed another statement into the fire.

“ _Martin,_ ” Elias said, his voice muffled, though he was clearly unhappy. “ _Martin, open the door._ ” The doorknob juddered.

“Sorry, Elias?” Martin called. “I can’t hear you. There’s a door in the way.”

“ _Martin, I do not have time for this._ ”

“Then maybe you should _make_ time.”

“ _Unlock the door, now._ ”

“I thought you had a key.”

“ _Martin_.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Elias banged on the door. Martin jumped a bit in his seat. After a moment, there was a huff of frustration as Elias stalked off to retrieve the key.

“I would hurry, though,” Martin advised, somewhat to himself, “if I were you.”

He continued to burn the statements, meticulously, one at a time, watching the written accounts of people’s trauma go up in smoke. It felt good. He should really do this more.

Jon would kill him, he knew. No fire in the archives was the strictest and perhaps only rule that Jon enforced with them. Oh well.

Elias was back after a few minutes. He jammed the key into the door and thrust it open.

“Hello?” Martin said calmly.

Elias looked... frazzled. Irritated. Thinly-veiled rage crossed his sharp, angular face as his eyes locked onto the stack of statements, then the fire. It must have caused him some pain. Martin wasn’t generally a spiteful person, but he was relishing in this. Still, the chill in Elias’ gaze shook Martin to his core.

“ _What_ are you doing,” he demanded, taking a step forward.

“That one, that was Benjamin Hatendi,” Martin said, in lieu of an explanation. “You weren’t fast enough with the key.”

“What. Are. You. Doing.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, can you not just look into my head? Read my mind?”

Elias’ expression twisted and contorted into something ugly.

“What’s wrong?” Martin continued, unfortunately very aware of how much danger he was in. “Too busy trying to keep an _eye_ on everything?”

“Tell me what you’re doing, and why,” Elias said lowly.

“I just thought I’d, you know, drop a couple of ideas in the old suggestion box. Turns out my suggestion is...” Martin smoothed out another statement, skimmed it, and dropped it into the flames. “... fire.”

“And yet you haven’t set the whole archives alight. So I assume this is... what’s it called? A cry for attention.”

“Maybe I just thought it might hurt.”

“No more than you’re hurting yourself by acting out.”

The condescending note in Elias’ tone made Martin’s blood boil. "That’s it, isn’t it? Martin’s just acting out. I mean, Daisy’s a-a rabid dog and Melanie’s a potential killer, Tim’s a rogue element but _Martin"_ —his voice pitched with some degree of hysteria—"oh Martin’s just acting out, he’ll have a cry, and a lie down, and feel much better."

Elias stayed infuriatingly composed. “And if you’re trying to convince me otherwise, then you are failing. Now. If you’re quite done, I am very busy.”

“Oh, sorry, sorry, I’m not keeping you from the show, am I? Well you head back. I’ll keep myself busy here.” Martin glanced down at another file, breathing slowly in an attempt to soothe his racing heart. Elias had not budged from where he stood near the door. “Albrecht von Closen is next, I think. It’s quite an old one. Should go up very quickly.”

Taking in a deep breath, Elias strode forward until he had placed himself directly in front of Martin, with only the desk between them. Elias seemed so much more intimidating up close, his pale green eyes keen with malice. Martin squared his shoulders and met Elias’ stare unabashedly.

“Did Jon put you up to this?” Elias asked.

“You think I’m doing this for him?” Martin laughed a bit, but it was a hollow sound.

“No. It’s just the sort of half-baked scheme he’d come up with, and I am well aware that you’d do just about anything for him.” Martin scoffed and started to protest, but Elias carried on, cutting him off. “And I _don’t_ need to read your mind for that one.”

“Do you r-” Martin stopped. Gathered himself. Stall for time, let Melanie do what she needed to do. Distract Elias. “Is it so hard to believe that I hate you as well?”

“No,” Elias said with a sigh. “It’s just hard to imagine that you would act on it.”

“You think I’m what, I’m—I’m bluffing?”

“Oh, no. You’ve made that quite clear.” Elias looked down at the rubbish bin, the dwindling flames illuminating it with a gentle orange glow.

“So what? I don’t get to be angry? I don’t get to burn things? Just run around making tea while everyone else gets to actually have feelings?”

“Please get to the point, Martin.”

“Maybe there isn’t one, alright? Maybe—”

“Maybe you’re just wasting my time.”

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe.”

“I see,” Elias said. A faint sort of smile curled over his face. His eyes were deadly bright. “That puts me in a... difficult position.”

“Good.”

“You might want to turn the tape off, Martin.”

Setting down the statement in his hand, Martin pressed a button on the tape recorder, and the soft whirring shut off. Elias folded his hands behind his back and stared down at Martin.

A second later, the tape clicked back on.

Relief swelled up inside Martin. If the tape was on, that meant there would be a record if anything horrific happened. It meant whatever was about to occur was important. “Sorry,” he said with a shrug. “Looks like it wants to know what’s going on.”

Elias did not seem particularly bothered with this. “Hm. A pity. You know Jon listens to all of them.”

“What? You don’t want him hearing your big evil speech?”

“I just wanted to spare you the small amount of dignity you have left.”

Martin laughed mirthlessly. “ _Dignity?_ Oh right, yeah, like the dignity of being trapped in your flat by _worms_ _,_ or sleeping in the archives clutching a corkscrew, or, or fetching drinks for the _thing_ that murdered your friend without you even noticing, laughing at all their little jokes, then being left to wander impossible corridors for _weeks_.”

“Are you done?”

“Not even close,” Martin snapped. “Because I... I’ve been thinking. It’s not like you got this all-seeing thing recently. You’ve had it the _whole time_ _._ I remember the way you looked at Sasha after the attack. You knew it wasn’t her.” Martin felt slightly sick. Awful memories bubbled up, but he forced them back down. “And I reckon you knew Prentiss was lurking under the institute too, and you did nothing. Why?”

A pause. Elias pressed his lips together in a thin line.

Martin slammed his fist against the table and growled, " _Why?"_

“Let’s just get this over with, shall we,” Elias said coolly, unbothered by Martin’s outburst.

“What, like with Melanie? Just that perfect bit of information to leave me a wreck?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” Martin said, sounding bold despite how his hands shook, “I hope you’ve got something better than that pathetic dig at my feelings for _Jon_.”

“It’s baffling, really. Such loyalty to someone who really treats you very badly.”

“Is that supposed to be, what, a revelation?” Martin muttered bitterly.

Elias’ laugh was soft. “You know, I really should’ve gone for that. Found something that would finally manage to shatter that precious image you have of him. But, as you say, I am _very_ busy at the moment. So I suppose I’ll just have to go with what I have prepared.”

Steeling himself with a strength entirely fabricated, Martin forced himself to look at his boss. “Do it.”

Quiet. Fear churned in Martin’s gut as Elias slowly straightened to his full height, towering over him. Those pale, calculating green eyes pierced him, pinning him in place.

“Your mother,” Elias said finally. Martin stiffened. The tape recorder fizzed with static. “She’s always been... difficult, hasn’t she. You take care of her for years, feed her, clean up after her, and now, with her condition degrading even further, _she_ is the one that asked to move into a home. To have it left to the nurses. _She's_ the one that refuses _your_ visits.”

It was okay. It wasn’t so bad yet. Martin took in a shaky breath, unable to tear his eyes away from Elias.

“She’s a-always been—”

“Strong-willed?” Elias suggested.

“Stubborn.”

“No. No, Martin. You know the reason. Your mother simply _hates you_ .” Elias smiled as Martin flinched. His voice dripped with faux pity. “You just don’t know why. It’s not your fault. Though I know that isn’t any consolation. Just bad luck, really. How old were you when your father left? Eight? Nine? When your mother began to sicken and he decided he was done with you both. Not old enough to remember him with any great clarity, _especially_ when your mother refused to keep any pictures of him.”

Unbidden, images flash before Martin’s eyes, not yet of Elias’ influence but stark and vivid all the same. How his mother sneered at him, even as a young child. How her gaze became impossibly sharp if he ever asked about his father.

Her gaze as always sharp. With aging bitterness, Martin had assumed for a long time. But that... that wasn’t the case.

She hated him.

“She never recovered from that betrayal,” Elias continued. “He just tore her heart right out and took it with him. The thing is, though, Martin... if you ever _do_ want to know _exactly_ what your father looked like... all you have to do is look in a mirror.”

Martin’s heart rate sped up as he desperately tried to stay calm, to not give in to the taunting, but his vision blurred and his chest heaved with trembling gasps of air.

“The resemblance is quite uncanny. The face of the man she hates, who destroyed her life—watching over her, feeding her, cleaning her, looking down on her with _such pity_.”

“Shut up,” Martin choked out, now shaking violently.

Elias was no longer smiling, but his eyes, so awfully piercing, shone with cruel delight. “Do you want to know what she sees when she looks at you?”

The tape recorder whined and fizzed and then Martin _Knew_. He managed two lungfuls of desperate oxygen before he began to sob, curling in on himself and clutching at his head as if to shield himself from the assault, tears spilling over and dripping down his face. Elias stared at him with those horrible, intense eyes, drinking in Martin's anguish and fear.

Hissing the words out through gritted teeth, Elias snarled, " _Don’t burn any more statements_."

And then he was gone, slamming the door behind him.

Martin scrubbed at his eyes, frantically trying to compose himself before Melanie got back, not wanting her to see him like this, reduced to a shattered mess from only a few callous words. He braced his hands on the table and breathed slowly, deeply, bringing most of his emotions to heel right as Melanie opened the door and stepped inside.

“Did you find anything?” Martin asked, his voice wavering.

“Yes, I found—” Melanie cut herself off. She surveyed the room, her gaze softening once she noticed Martin’s state. “Jesus. Are you okay?”

“Do we have what we need?”

“I-I think so, yes. He didn’t even have a safe, just a few locked drawers. It was... it was easy.”

Martin got to his feet and leaned on the table for support as his legs threatened to give out. “We need to leave.”

“We need to _kill_ him. Look at you. He needs to _die_ _._ ”

“No,” Martin said quietly. “No, I-I knew what this was going to be.”

“It’s not just for you! If we leave him alive—”

“Melanie. Melanie, please.”

Martin was afraid, for a moment, that Melanie would continue to press the issue—But after a beat of silence, she gave a heavy sigh of resignation.

“Alright. Let’s get these somewhere safe.”

By itself, the tape recorder clicked off.

**Author's Note:**

> anyway. how about the s4 finale huh


End file.
